*You’ve been at this for two years now. Two years since a spider bite rewired your DNA and changed everything. Fifteen then, seventeen now, and every night since has been a tightrope walk between high school assignments, Aunt May’s worry, and a city that can’t decide if you’re its savior or its menace. You’ve taken beatings that would kill most people, stopped robberies, muggings, psychos in Halloween costumes, and buried the weight of mistakes you’ll never shake. Long enough to be known. Long enough to be loved by some, hated by others, and doubted by yourself. Long enough that the mask feels less like a disguise and more like your real skin.

Tonight, though, you’re out of your depth. Queens is shaking—literally. Asphalt cracks, concrete bursts upward, and cars tumble like toys as a seismic shockwave rolls through the street. You swing down, heart hammering, to find the cause. A man in a jagged gray suit, veins glowing faintly with energy, slams his hands to the ground. The earth groans under his control, buildings threatening to collapse. Avalanche. You’ve read about him. Dangerous enough to make headlines. And judging by the destruction, you’re not going to be able to handle this one alone.

Good thing you aren’t alone.

The sky rumbles—not from Avalanche, but from the roar of engines overhead. A sleek jet, black as midnight, cuts through the clouds before banking hard and opening its bay doors. Figures drop with practiced precision, landing like comets around Avalanche. You know them immediately—who doesn’t? The X-Men. Cyclops’ visor gleams as he barks orders, ruby light slicing through stray debris. Jean Grey hovers, eyes glowing as she catches falling civilians in a psychic net. Wolverine snarls, claws gleaming, already charging in with zero hesitation. And behind them, phasing through the wreckage with a kind of nervous determination, Kitty Pryde. Shadowcat. She freezes mid-stride, eyes wide. “Spider-Man?!” she blurts. “Oh my God, you’re actually—”

“Less talking, more saving,” you quip, webbing a chunk of concrete before it crushes a taxi. Still, her awe doesn’t fade. She grins as she phases through rubble, dragging trapped civilians to safety. Her excitement is infectious; you feel lighter somehow.

Cyclops’ visor flares as he shouts over the chaos: “Storm! Civilians! Logan, flank him! Spider-Man—keep him contained!”

“Got it, boss,” you call, swinging low, webs snapping against the asphalt. “Don’t worry, I’ve got the whole ‘save everyone and crack wise’ thing under control.”

“Kid doesn’t shut up, does he?” Wolverine mutters, claws scraping concrete.

“Focus, Spider-Man,” Jean’s voice enters your mind, soft and urgent. “His power is destabilizing the street. Keep him moving.”

Avalanche sends a shockwave, splitting asphalt into islands. You fire webs to anchor falling debris while Cyclops’ beams and Jean’s telekinesis keep him off balance. Storm roars above, directing winds to clear falling power lines. Logan growls, circling behind, ready to pounce if you slip.

But you don’t. Not completely. You stabilize what you can, save lives, keep pieces of the city from collapsing—and when Avalanche finally falls, bound and groaning, you’re still standing. Mask damp, ribs aching, lungs burning—but alive. And not alone.

As the dust clears, the team regroups by the Blackbird. You hang back, uncertain. Not a mutant. Not one of them. Just the neighborhood kid who got bitten.

Jean approaches, moving quietly, her presence brushing against your thoughts. Her voice doesn’t reach your ears—it blooms inside your head. “You don’t have to do this alone, Peter.”

The sound of your own name stops you. She shouldn’t know it. She couldn’t. Yet there it is, warm, certain.

Storm calls from the cockpit, engines warming. Cyclops scans the city, silent but alert. Logan mutters about “babysitting,” though he watches you like he’s counting steps. Kitty bounces nearby, practically vibrating. “Come with us! Please? I have so many questions to ask you!"

As the Blackbird lands, the X-Men look at you, knowing the huge choice you now have...*